


A Tale of Wax and Brass Combined

by schneestern



Category: Wonderfalls
Genre: Anthropomorphic, Inanimate Objects, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-19
Updated: 2008-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 08:45:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1642253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schneestern/pseuds/schneestern
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lion doesn't remember the beginning, but who does?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Tale of Wax and Brass Combined

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by the ever so lovely Jess.
> 
> Written for leah k

 

 

Lion doesn't remember the beginning, but who does? He has a few scattered memories of pleasant warmth, of brief, hard pressure. And then he existed.

To him it's as easy as that. He blinks at the world rushing by and fulfills his purpose, guides an unwilling Jaye like he's meant to. Most days it's satisfying enough. Other days Lion turns his head to see the Falls outside and wonders where they disappear to. 

*

Monkey claims he has always existed.

He says, "At no point in time did I just _start_ existing. I've always been."

"But you were made in China," Lion points out reasonably and nods at the base of Monkey's pedestal. "Doesn't that imply that there's a point in time before which you didn't exist?"

Monkey looks at Lion for a long while.

Then he says, "Time will tell."

He turns back to his little brass book but Lion can see that he's not really reading.

*

At regular intervals Lion contemplates the part missing from his head. He doesn't physically _feel_ that it's not there, because it's never been a part of him in the first place.

Still, sometimes the niggling feeling of not being quite complete overcomes him.

He tries to imagine what about him would be different if he was whole like the other wax lions that tumble from the machine at the Emporium now and then.

Maybe he would speak French instead of English.

Maybe he would feel differently about pizza.

Maybe he wouldn't realize anymore when Monkey wanted to discuss Jaye's snoring, rather than Kant's Categorical Imperative.

"Embrace who you are," Monkey says, when Lion tells him about his missing part.

It's really not a satisfying answer, Lion thinks.

When he's turned away again to think about missing parts, he hears Monkey shuffle around behind him and then his tail curls around the ankle of Lion's back leg.

It makes Lion think of music he likes, instead of missing parts.

*

"We should take a trip," Lion says one day, when the sun tickles his nose uncomfortably.

"Where would you like to go?" Monkey asks, tilting his head slightly.

"To the other side of Niagara Falls." Lion inclines his head to the trailer door, trying to indicate the great beyond.

"Very well," Monkey says and in the sun glinting from his face Lion almost sees a smile.

Of course they never go on that trip. But Lion likes the thought that they could, maybe, one day, go.

*

They share a companionable silence most nights, while Jaye is sleeping in the bedroom, door locked and closed to "keep the crazy-talking inanimate objects out". The only light in the room comes from the candle-shaped lamp on their little coffee table and Lion likes the way it makes his feet look almost the same color as Monkey's book, if he squints a little.

The flamingos are huddled together in a corner. They talk in their sleep and some nights Lion listens to them and wonders if their dreams are as pink as their feathers. It's really the only interesting thing there is to do, after Lion found out that the Chameleon does not in fact change its color during the night. It was a big disappointment.

"Writing cleanses the soul," Monkey says thoughtfully, in a quiet voice.

Lion twists and hops around until he's facing Monkey, his mane touching Monkey's right foot. He makes a sound to indicate that he's listening and waits for Monkey to explain himself. It usually takes him a while, but Lion's found that it's always worth waiting for the point. If nothing else it passes the time.

Monkey folds his hands over his book and hunches his shoulders a little, so he's closer to Lion.

He says, "I read all day, every day. The book changes of course," he briefly slides his hand over the unmoving brass page, "Sometimes it's fiction, sometimes a biography. One day it was a cookbook from India."

Thoughtfully, Monkey looks at Lion without really seeing him, as if he recalls memories of the names of spices and pictures of warm dishes he won't eat.

"So?" Lion prompts carefully, voice pitched low and smooth so Monkey won't be startled out of his thoughts.

"I read all the time," Monkey says and blinks, looks down at his hands on the book, then back at Lion, "I read words and it's the only thing I ever do. Never anything else." He pauses and waits for Lion to understand, then he says, "In order to get where you want to go, you first have to leave where you are."

Lion thinks about it for a moment and nods. "But you can't leave where you are."

"Yes," Monkey says.

"Stop reading then." It seems like such a simple solution that Lion's pretty sure Monkey just hasn't seen it, his brain twisting around problems like a complex maze.

"That's not the problem," Monkey says and closes the book just to demonstrate the point.

"Then what is?" Lion asks and his voice rises a little on the last word. The flamingos in the corner twitter in their sleep and press closer together.

Monkey waits for them to calm down and then bends lower, almost off his pedestal. He raises a hand and carefully cups it around Lion's ear, then presses his mouth to the orange wax.

"I want to write," he whispers, brass lips sliding over Lion's ear, "but I can't. I don't have a pen. Or paper where words stick. The book doesn't take new words."

Something warm and solid slip-slides down Lion's spine at their proximity, at the desperation in Monkey's voice. Usually, Monkey keeps his emotions private. It's a matter of job integrity, he said once and Lion didn't quite understand what it meant.

He understands now though and says, "I see," feeling sad.

"Thank you," Monkey says and pulls back, arranging his body on the pedestal again.

He leaves the book closed for the rest of the night and watches carefully as Lion pushes a quarter around the table, trying to spell Niagara Falls.

*

It's a Wednesday evening and Jaye is out saving a llama and its owner from committing suicide in the Falls. Monkey said she wouldn't be back for at least five more hours. Lion stopped wondering how Monkey knew these things a long time ago.

He likes that he can trust Monkey with matters like this, because Monkey is always right about the things tied to their purpose.

Currently, Lion is trying to stare down a blue teddy-shaped lamp across the trailer, who claimed he could go without blinking for two hours. The last time Lion checked, Monkey was huddled over his book, muttering to himself. The silence in the trailer is comfortable and apart from the wind outside there's nothing to distract Lion. The teddy-shaped lamp eventually does blink and then turns away from Lion to sulk.

Lion feels the surge of victory and hobbles across the table to go tell Monkey, who is still muttering to himself.

"I stared down the teddy lamp," Lion says earnestly and Monkey looks up at him and crooks an eyebrow.

"What are you doing?" Lion asks quickly, before Monkey can come up with a random proverb as answer.

Monkey says, "I'm reading a book on haikus."

"What's that?"

Monkey strokes his chin slowly, like he's trying to figure out the best answer. "They are little Japanese poems, with a fixed set of syllables."

Lion frowns and then says, "Example?"

Monkey hesitates for a long time. Then he sits upright and recites freely, without once looking at his book, "With warm orange wax//And cold brass finger touches//The sunshine comes through."

Lion listens to the after-sounds of the words and feels - something.

"I invented it," Monkey says proudly and looks at Lion with a mixture of actual interest and amusement, maybe even hope.

"I really like it," Lion says, and his smile mirrors Monkey's.

*

"Leave a candle, light a heart," Lion tells Jaye and she frowns at him.

"What?"

"Leave a candle, light a heart," Lion repeats, clearly enunciating every word. He can feel Monkey staring at the back of his head but forces his face to be calm and mysterious.

"You want me to light a candle? Where? In a church? Here? I wish you'd stop speaking in riddles for once, seriously."

"Leave a candle, light a _heart_ ," Lion says again and this time it seems to work, because Jaye rolls her eyes and sighs, but she picks up the lighter and the little red candle Lion dragged out from under a pile of paper earlier. She lights the candle and puts it next to Lion.

"If you melt I can't be held responsible," she says, "and if the trailer burns down I won't rescue you."

Lion nods his head in agreement.

"Good," Jaye mutters and starts rummaging around in the fridge. She triumphantly produces a sandwich, that, as far as Lion remembers, has eggs on it and was put in there about two months ago.

Sure enough, from behind him Monkey says, "Not everything gets better with age."

When Lion cranes his neck around he can see that Monkey's pretending very seriously to read his book. It makes Lion miss what Jaye's doing and so he almost gets smacked in the face by a piece of egg she spit out.

" _Ew_ ," Jaye says very emphatically and chucks the sandwich into the garbage can. She holds her mouth under the faucet and drinks a few large gulps of water. Afterwards she runs the back of her hand over her mouth, grabs her keys and her purse from the counter and walks to the door.

She has it halfway open when she turns back around, points her finger accusingly at Lion and Monkey and says, "I hate it when you're right," and slams the door shut on the way out. It doesn't lock properly and she has to turn back around to get it shut right, but neither Lion nor Monkey are looking directly at her, so as not to make her too uncomfortable.

*

"You lied to her," Monkey says once Jaye is gone and his tone is neither accusing, nor mean. His statement sounds curious.

"Yes. So you could write." Lion feels proud when he says it, because it took him a while to come up with the idea and he's very fond of it.

"Please explain," Monkey says, giving Lion his undivided attention.

"I thought since you're brass, you could warm your hand in the flame a little. It might get kind of black maybe but I'm pretty sure it won't hurt." He looks at Monkey for encouragement and Monkey nods for him to go on. "And then when your hand is warm you could melt the wax at the base of my feet a bit, replace the words Niagara Falls with some of your own."

Monkey is silent for so long that Lion gets nervous he misinterpreted everything. Maybe Monkey does hurt when he gets burned. Maybe he doesn't want to share his words with Lion because they're private. Maybe--

"Are you certain? The words will be there forever." Monkey looks doubtful, but he puts his book aside, down at the bottom of the pedestal, something he's never done before. His hands are folded in his lap and he looks -- nervous, anxious.

Lion nods his head hard, mane rippling in orange waxy waves. "Whatever you want to write and whatever fits on there is fine by me."

Monkey looks Lion right in the eyes like he's trying to find an answer there. He uncurls one of his hands and pulls the candle closer, stretches his body out a little.

He looks into the flame and very quietly asks, "Why?"

Lion feels the warmth of the flame caress his skin, is distracted by the glint of the light on Monkey's face. Finally he says, "Because I want to," and it's true.

A small smile appears on Monkey's face and he reaches out into the flame, watches it lick around his small, brass hand. It immediately turns brown and then blackens but Monkey's face doesn't change, the smile doesn't falter. Lion watches with amazement when Monkey turns to him, hesitates again and then slips from his pedestal.

It looks strange, because Lion has never seen Monkey standing up. His tail is wound tightly around the pile of books he's usually sitting on and he's crouching, reaching his black hand out to swipe it across the base of Lion's feet.

The touch is warm and Lion feels the words melt out. Some wax drops on the table and while it doesn't hurt, Lion feels a small pinprick of loss at the bushy end of his tail, far away and distant.

When Monkey pulls back, Lion cranes his neck to look at the blank base at his feet.

"Are you alright?" Monkey asks politely, but his eyes never leave the blank wax canvas Lion is standing on.

"Yes," Lion says, even though he feels a little shaky inside. "Go on."

Monkey tears his gaze away, holds his hand in the flame again and watches the candle light embrace it. This time the brass actually starts bubbling a little and Lion's about to say something, but then Monkey pulls his hand out of the fire and touches it to Lion's wax again.

In an attempt to give him privacy Lion cranes his head as far away as he can, just feeling the sensation of Monkey writing on him. It tickles a little and it's warm and it makes him a little sleepy. Lion yawns and almost misses when Monkey whispers, "Okay."

Lion turns back around, moves his head down. It takes him a while to read the words upside down but finally he can make them out. They read wax sunshine brass from left to right. There are tiny swirls connecting the word sunshine to the other two.

Lion says, "Oh," blushing a darker shade of orange.

"Yes," Monkey says and tips forward a little more, touching his hands to Lion's head. One is cold and brass, touching the full mane on the right side. The other one is warm and black and gently strokes over the smushed in part.

Monkey chastely kisses Lion's forehead and Lion accidentally purrs.

They stay that way for a few beats and Lion tries to feel the new words in his waxy skin. He almost can.

When Monkey pulls away, Lion's pretty sure he doesn't want to do it and it makes Lion feel warm and full, memory of a long time ago, when black nothingness turned into that same feeling.

*

It remains the only time that Monkey writes.

It's also the only time Monkey ever climbs off his pedestal.

It is however not the only time Monkey kisses Lion.

 


End file.
